Faith and Forgiveness
by JantoJones
Summary: Illya is seeking an answer.


**I love reading poetry and, although I am an atheist myself, this one strikes me with its message of humanity.** **It also sparked an idea.**

_Abou Ben Adhem by Leigh Hunt (1784 – 1859)_

_Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)_

_Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,_

_And saw, within the moonlight in his room,_

_Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,_

_An angel writing in a book of gold:— _

_Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,_

_And to the Presence in the room he said_

_"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,_

_And with a look made of all sweet accord,_

_Answered "The names of those who love the Lord."_

_"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"_

_Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,_

_But cheerly still, and said "I pray thee, then,_

_Write me as one that loves his fellow men."_

_The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night_

_It came again with a great wakening light,_

_And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,_

_And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest._

**MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU**

Illya had been walking for half an hour in an effort to clear his head of the last mission. Most people assumed that the 'Ice Prince' was unmoved by difficult affairs, but it simply wasn't the case. He dealt with his emotions in his own way and in his own time. The mission he and Napoleon had just completed had been a success, but the dictator they'd removed had left behind a hungry and tormented populace. For the Russian it had reminded him a far too much of his childhood and had churned up ghosts he thought he'd laid.

As he walked through the damp New York morning, Illya found himself outside one of the city's catholic churches. He'd been raised an atheist, something he had affirmed for himself later on, yet he still felt compelled to go into the church. One pew at the front was occupied by an elderly lady but, other than her, there was no-one else in sight. Illya sat on the pew closest to the back and closed his eyes.

The silence within the church was a wonderful relief for the weary agent. He always seemed to be surrounded by sound; even in his apartment there was almost constant traffic noise from the street below. Illya opened his eyes when he felt someone sitting beside him.

"Are you here to confess my son?" The priest asked.

Father Abnett had noticed the young man as soon as he'd exited the vestry. The man looked troubled; which was usually the case for any stranger that came in.

"No Father," Illya replied. "I'm a non-believer."

"Yet you are here."

"Yes."

"Forgive me, but may I ask what your accent is?"

Illya told him he was Russian, which explained his atheism to Father Abnett.

"You don't need to have faith to unburden your soul, "the priest said softly.

Illya looked Father Abnett directly in the eye. "Does God punish non-believers?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"When I was eight, my father went away to fight the war and never returned," Illya began. "Then the Nazis passed through our village and left no-one behind, other than myself and two of my friends. We hid up in the trees and watched as monsters raped women and girls and tore into babies. I was too scared to do anything. Not that I could have; had we come down, we would be dead also."

"My son…"

"Illya."

The priest smiled. "Illya, those were dark days, especially for those who witnessed the things you did. I wish I could tell you that it was all part of God's plan, but I think even He was powerless against such abject evil for a while. As for punishing non-believers, God's love and forgiveness is infinite. Your family weren't killed because of your lack of faith; they were victims of a wicked and all-consuming hatred."

"Maybe that is why I do what I do now," Illya postulated. "I work for the U.N.C.L.E."

"I know of it," the Father told him. "It is a wonderful organisation which does a lot of good in the world."

"The end results may be good, but I sometimes wonder if the things I do make me no better than the bastard Nazis. I apologise for the cursing."

"Are you regretting the things you have to do?"

The Russian didn't respond immediately, and the priest didn't push him. He knew the young man would answer when he was ready.

"No," Illya finally stated. "I have killed many people, but never out of personal malice or hatred. If killing one person of evil intent saves one innocent, then I have no qualms in doing so,"

"I cannot condone killing Illya," the priest told him. "However, I cannot condemn you either. That is a judgement for the Almighty. I don't know you but I believe you to be an honourable man with good intentions, and the Lord loves and forgives those who sacrifice themselves for the good of all."

"But surely Father," Illya said, with a half-smile on his face. "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

"That is what is written," Father Abnett agreed. "But, from what you tell me of your childhood, you've already been to Hell."

Illya snorted a humourless laugh. "You could be right."

"It matters not to God whether you believe in Him or not Illya. He believes in you, and has sent you into the world to help those who are being abused, maltreated or crushed. Maybe the hardships you suffered when young were what you needed to make you the man you are today. Maybe that was why you were in the tree that terrible day, because you were needed for a much bigger purpose. Would you allow me to say a prayer for you my son?"

Illya stood up suddenly and shook the priest's hand.

"Thank you for allowing me some of your time Father," he said, smiling. "I am not normally one for examining my past, but recent events have stirred up some phantoms. It is very generous of you to offer a prayer for me, but please do not. There are others, such as the people I help, who need it more."

"You are truly to be blessed Illya," Father Abnett replied. "Take care of yourself, and if you ever need an ear to talk into, please do not hesitate to return."

Illya gave the priest a little bow and left the church. The rain had stopped and the sun was beginning to shine. The Russian still denied the existence of God, but the priest had somehow given him back a glimmer of faith in himself and what he stood for. Then he noticed the name of the church and laughed. If there was a God, he must definitely have a sense of humour. Illya had a spring in his step as he continued his journey.

Inside the Church of St. Alexander, Father Abnett knelt in prayer before the ornate crucifix.

"Lord, guide Illya in his endeavours. His soul may be tarnished, but his heart his pure."

The end.


End file.
